


the price of forgetting

by surabayuh



Series: bang the war-drums [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, and said father being a war criminal, but with Vader picking up the wrong--or right?--information out of Leia's head, now updated with: the Alderaanian destruction, the torture scene in ANH, with only the father knowing of the relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:28:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22155538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surabayuh/pseuds/surabayuh
Summary: Vader always thought that epiphany would come in waves; in the middle of meditation, perhaps, or a dream while he was resting, giving him unimaginable glee and satisfaction at its revelation.He’d never thought epiphany would sledgehammer him here, at cell room number 2187, in the middle of an interrogation session, with an unconscious Alderaanian Princess laying on the floor.
Relationships: Leia Organa & Anakin Skywalker, Leia Organa & Darth Vader, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Series: bang the war-drums [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1596073
Comments: 68
Kudos: 536





	1. leia.

**Author's Note:**

> hello friends and welcome to another story! I've been obsessed with Leia for a while, especially with how her storyline deals with losses, and I'm a sucker for a father-daughter relationship where the father just feels immensely guilty for finally realizing his sins to his children (yeah i'm projecting i know). anyway, enjoy, and if you like it, please leave a kudo and/or comment down below! 
> 
> this is a chaptered fic, and i plan this to be a part of a longer series, so do stay tuned for more!

The revolution started with a bang. Just not the kind of bang that you imagined it to be. 

Princess Leia was bruising her knuckles, she was sure of it. But it was better this way—hitting the cold metal bench she was confined to at least relieved some of the pain that the drug injected to her had brought. 

**_Bang, bang, bang, bang._ **

“ _ Where is the rebel base, Your Highness?”  _

She’d heard those words perhaps a thousand times, a sentence that got murkier and murkier as time passed and more drugs were pumped into her system. Darth Vader; the famed Emperor’s right-hand-man, the Galaxy’s most fearsome murderer, looked down at her—she thinks. With that black mask on, she could never be so sure.

Leia never felt fear quite like this before; never felt helplessness quite this all-consuming before. Her nausea was unbearable now, clinging to her throat like vice, and the pounding in her head seemed to increase by the second. but she was no Princess of Alderaan if she let these things take course of her actions. When she replied to him, her eyes were defiant, albeit hazy and unfocused, and her voice was filled with conviction, albeit shaky and slurred. 

“Away,” She had said, challengingly, because she’d rather  _ die  _ than let this tyranny win the fight against democracy. 

Something muffled came out of Darth Vader’s mouth—she thinks. Perhaps a snort, or a groan, or a curse of frustration, she could never be so sure, with how much his vococorder distorted it. Beside him, the torture droid lifted his syringe—fully refilled, of  _ course— _ menacingly, ready to pump her with more toxins so she could  _ break  _ for them to take. 

“I see that you have chosen to continue refusing cooperation.” Said Vader, monotone voice echoing through the cold cell. “IT-O, dispose more of the drugs. I want to try something else.” 

Leia almost whimpered at that, because the substance already inside her had made her heart squeeze, made her nerves prickle. Could she possibly take  _ more  _ and  _ endure?  _ Could she possibly take more and  _ survive?  _

Could she possibly take more and still guard the secrets given to her?

“ _ You are one brave girl, my love.”  _ She forced her mind to remember what Mama had said, as she felt another needle pricking her arm.  _ “You are braver than the fiercest of mankind. You can do this.”  _

The room spun around her. Her head was beating faster than a ship going into hyperspace. 

“ _ Your birth mother would be so proud of you, Leilila.”  _

Leia closed her eyes, tongue licking her lower-right canine silently—a fake made to contain toxins of her own, standard for higher-level rebel cell.

If it came to death, then so be it. 

“Bring me the best that you have,” She whispered, almost inaudibly, giving Vader one last weak grin before wincing, feeling the drug run its course. Her abused knuckle hit the metal bench, over and over again, creating a rhythm she herself couldn’t hear due to the heightened buzz of the torture droid.

**_Bang, bang, bang, bang_ ** _ — _ echoing through the room, matching the mechanical noises. 

Before her, Vader—were her eyes blurry or were there  _ two  _ of him  _ now?— _ tilted his head slightly, as if in amusement of her unwilting defiance. “That I shall.”

And then—then suddenly, he was  _ inside her head.  _

Leia gasped, wincing at the sudden intrusion. Her headache  _ escalated  _ into unimaginable pain as she gritted her teeth. Vader was still  _ there,  _ before her, but somehow he was also  _ inside her;  _ breaking through her shields, carding through memories, tossing them around one by one. 

“Where is the rebel base? _ ”  _

_ She was age Sixteen; dragging Winter to another midnight adventure, climbing down from their room’s window sneakily as they looked left and right in case of a guard spotting their latest teenage rebellion phase—  _

Tossed away—like nothing. Her and her sister, discarded like  _ nothing.  _

“I don’t  _ know.”  _

“Liar. Where is it?” 

_ Age eleven; and Papa was teaching her how to milk a Bantha. Leia held the nipple wrong and the blue liquid sprayed to her face, all over her dress. Papa had laughed at that, Prince-consort dignity be damned.  _

Torn to shreds. Her father’s smile, destroyed just like  _ that.  _

“I told you, I don’t  _ know!”  _

“Your torture will only continue if you refuse to drop the facade, Your Highness.”

_ Age four; Mama was doing her braid, singing a good children’s song that she hated so much for Winter who, for some reason, loved them so. “Mama, why are all nursery rhymes scary?” Leia had protested, and Mama had simply laughed, bopping her nose affectionately.  _

Crumpled, thrown off. Mama’s singing voice— _ gone.  _

“Stop it— _ stop it!”  _

Leia didn’t realize it, but she was shrieking now, body trembling as her knuckles repetitively banged the cold metal bench were she laid. Tears were flowing from her eyes, and she was  _ hurt,  _ utterly and completely  _ broken  _ as Vader carelessly crusaded through her mind, breaking and discarding memories— _ her  _ memories,  _ hers— _ in his quest to find the information he needed.

She took a deep breath—whimpered, almost. Her mind shield was in shambles, but it wasn’t quite destroyed,  _ yet.  _ She closed her eyes, screwing them shut, imagining walls upon walls layering her secrets, guarding them with haphazard memories and emotions and thoughts and dreams and  _ her _ . 

This was a skill she’d learned secretively—not even Papa and Mama had known this technique, or how they even applied, but Leia had  _ learned,  _ scavenging old documents and reading torture resistance methods, putting herself through months of independent meditations and self control, and she had  _ learned.  _

Here was the last straw of her defense; using parts of herself to protect this information—because she’d rather lose her mind than lose  _ this fight.  _

“You cannot hide this forever from me, Your Highness.” 

**_Bang, bang, bang, bang._ **

Leia was heaving. “I’d like you—” She said, eyes closed but Vader still in her sight somehow, plaguing her mind. “I’d like to see you  _ try  _ getting it out of me _.”  _

Vader in her mind was as menacing and unreadable as always, but Leia had a gut feeling that he almost— _ smiled— _ at her insistence. “Then so be it.”

And then Vader was wreaking havoc  _ inside her;  _ tearing her walls one by one, not just memory anymore—

_ Wishes of holding hands with Winter in a free-land, speaking the wills of the people before the senate— _

_ Dreams of a desert, and a blonde-haired boy with lopsided grin and clear-blue eyes— _

_ Feelings of love, of adoration, of longing to Mama, Papa, Winter— _

“Where is—?”

_ Images—Images of— _

**_“Your birth mother would be proud of you, Leilila.”_ **

_ Not mama, but a mother all the same; curly hair, cascading down, brown eyes just like her, and a sad, sad smile. Her lips working out to say words to her that she couldn’t hear. _

This was her final defense; a memory from a time she didn’t even know—a mother she’d never met but had always seen at the back of her lids. Her mother,  _ hers.  _

_ “Leia,” She thought she’d heard her say, “Leia, You’re so brave, my love.”  _

_ Mother’s voice was warm—velvety, with an odd accent, too. Leia heard of it before—the lull of her voice, the gentleness in her words—but she’d always recognized it in her dreams.  _

Her mother,  _ hers.  _

_ “I’m so sorry, my sweetheart.”  _

“What—?”

**_Bang, bang, bang, bang._ **

“ _ Mom _ .” Leia had breathed, eyes hazy and glassy, tears coming down her cheeks as she looked up to the overly bright ceiling.  _ I’m coming to you, mom,  _ she thought to herself, looking up.  _ I’m coming to you— _

And then—Vader was suddenly out. 

She blinked, because her head was clearer now—still painful, still murky, but  _ clearer,  _ with only one voice commandeering its insides;  _ hers.  _ And she’d—

Carded through her defenses, desperately trying to find—

_ Oh. _

The rebel base information—it was still  _ there,  _ untouched. Vader  _ hadn’t taken it.  _

_ Then why—? _

“Who—” Leia was pulled back to reality, and she could see the all-blinding harsh light around her. Could feel the coldness of the room, of the space. Could hear the torture droid buzzing menacingly in front of her, and the harsh breathing voices of Vader through his vococorder. 

_ Vader. Right.  _ He was the one—asking?

No, wait—

Had he gone out of her mind  _ before  _ getting the information of the rebel base?

“Who is  _ that?”  _ Vader’s voice was rough—even the vococorder couldn’t disguise it. He was no longer bored and monotonous. Instead, he was sharp and— _ panicking?  _ “I said,  _ who is that?!” _

Leia laughed, despite herself; airy and light. “Who is what?” She asked, voice slurred. 

“Don’t play with me, Highness—the woman, in your mind—”

Narrowing her eyes, Leia could barely see him from all the headache and visual distortion. “You—” She coughed, heaving, brown hair and sad eyes filling her senses, along with a repetitive  _ Leia, Leia, Leia—  _ “You mean— _ mom?”  _

“Do not  _ lie to me!”  _ And now Vader was raging, because everything around her suddenly prickled painfully, buzzing over and under her skin and  _ torturing her.  _ “You are Princess Leia of Alderaan, your parents are Bail and Breha Organa—” 

Leia could feel ghost hands closing over her throat, lifting her up. The force—it seemed; Vader’s famous technique, one only he wielded in the galaxy. She couldn’t breathe, spluttering and coughing as she tried, and the room was spinning. “ _ You are not her daughter!”  _

Her knuckles balled and extended next to her sides, trying to find purchase while Vader suspended her midair. She could barely breathe, but she’d find the effort to bother him, to ruffle his feathers, if it meant he was disturbed— _ distracted,  _ from going on his way to find out the rebel base. “I am, though.” She croaked, lips parched and tongue dry. “She’s my— _ mom _ ,” She gasped, softly.

Funny; she didn't even know her  _ name  _ and she already loved her, if only for disturbing Vader's psyche this much.

_ I did it; protected the secret, _ _ are you proud of me, mama— _

“You are not—you are—” 

_ Are you proud of me, mom— _

And—just as sudden as his departure from her head—suddenly he dropped her, knee-first to the metal floor, letting her crumple like a limp rag-doll. Leia curled into a ball, could barely find the energy to scramble away to any corners of the room to protect herself.

But her eyes—blurred as they were,  _ watched,  _ somehow. 

“No, no,  _ no—”  _

And there was Vader, backing up to the corner as if  _ he  _ was the one wounded from this encounter. Leia wanted to close her eyes for she was so tired, so  _ tired;  _ her tongue was once again tracing her fake-tooth, pondering on taking the toxin right  _ there—  _

“He said—” She could make out Vader’s mechanical voice, “He said you  _ died.”  _

Leia chuckled at that, weakly, wondering what the hell did Vader meant by that. Funny—the man now sounded like he was hurting, like something physically  _ maimed  _ him, when Leia was the one spent, drained,  _ destroyed.  _ “Maybe I will,” Leia mumbled, her weak voice echoing through the walls, tongue drawling her words. She could see how Vader flinched by that, so she gathered some more, all the energy left in her, to spite him one last time, “Maybe I  _ have.” _

“No,” There was Vader’s voice, again, and now even his vococorder couldn’t hide how  _ desperate  _ he sounded, how  _ fearful— _ and would you look at that? Darth Vader,  _ fearful?  _ Of her, a meagly Princess of a rebel planet, no less? 

Leia narrowed her eyes, her sight growing even murkier and murkier, but she could feel light traces to her skin, her bruised throat, her stinging knuckles—like someone was caressing her. 

“Please, don’t—I didn’t—” 

No, not  _ of  _ her—but  _ for  _ her. 

“Your High—Princess— _ Leia _ , no,  _ no—”  _

_ Why? _

“I—” a black-gloved hand was trying to reach for her forehead, and Leia flinched, pushing herself further away as much as her spent energy would allow. Vader—it was Vader’s hand, reaching out to—to  _ touch her?  _ “I’m sorry—”

_ What? _

She snorted, despite herself. Her eyes were growing heavier, so maybe she was hallucinating. Leia wanted to say something, but her throat hurt and her voice died in her vocal chords, so what came out were mere groan, quiet and pained. 

Leia looked at her knuckles, all bruises and blood and wounds and pains—just like the rest of her. Her mind was boggled, but she had a vague sensation of someone lifting her hand up, as if taking it closer to examine it. 

“I did this to you,” Said someone— _ Vader?  _ No, that couldn’t be  _ right;  _ he couldn’t possibly sound so  _ heartbroken.  _ “I did this to  _ you.”  _

Chuckling, Leia closed her eyes. “Yeah.” She wheezed her answer, not really paying attention to the man anymore. Instead, she focused on something else; something  _ bright,  _ and  _ warm,  _ and  _ clear  _ calling her name. 

Maybe it was her time to rest. 

“Angel,” her head was pounding, her vision swarmed, and her ears were ringing, but she swore she heard Vader say, “Angel, I’m  _ sorry.”  _

* * *

Vader always thought that epiphany would come in waves; it would give way to clarity in a way a holocron might bring. He thought it would come at him in the middle of meditation, perhaps a dream while he was resting, giving him unimaginable glee and satisfaction at its revelation. It was what he was taught of—both from the Light and the Dark side of the force. 

He’d never thought epiphany would sledgehammer him here, at cell room number 2187, in the middle of an interrogation session, with an unconscious Alderaanian Princess laying on the floor. 

_ Unconscious,  _ Vader told himself,  _ just unconscious, not— _

Vader almost shivered at the thought of the alternative. He couldn’t even bring himself to touch her, now, even if she’d show no resistance. His hands were hovering atop her still-form, trembling and unsure of what to do, perhaps for the first time in a long, long while. She was breathing—shallow, and pained, but  _ breathing,  _ and Vader didn’t know how he felt about  _ that.  _

“Leia,” He tested the name, letting it roll off his tongue—it came out odd and impersonal through the vococorder, and he  _ hated  _ it. She’d said it wrong, before—her own name; it was no Alderaanian word, and the accent didn’t make sense. It was a Tattooine word, a Tattooine  _ name;  _

_ “How about Leia?” He—not  _ **_him,_ ** _ the other one; the weaker link—said it a longtime ago, in a couch at an apartment that no longer were, next to the love of his life that no longer  _ **_breathed,_ ** _ caressing the bump of her belly lovingly.  _

_ “Hm?” _

_ “For a name. Leia.” He had said, leaning over to her, ears pressed against the belly, expecting a kick from her stomach. Something hit him, then, perhaps a foot, or a hand, or a head-bump, he’d never know, but he’d gleefully take it nonetheless. “See, she agreed!” He laughed, pressing his cheek a little harder, hoping for the baby inside to do more. _

_ The love of his life, his wife, Padme, merely chuckled as she chided him. “We don’t even know if it’s a she, yet.”  _

_ “Mmhm. and whose fault is that?” _

_ “Well—!” Said Padme, flabbergasted, “Forgive me for wanting it to be a surprise!” She said, playfully pushing him away, much to his chagrin. He fake-whined, hands reaching over to her, wanting to pull her closer.  _

_ “Aw, Angel, don’t do that, I want to spend time with our baby girl—” _

_ “Could be a baby boy—”  _

_ “Baby, then.” He amended, and Padme laughed as he kissed the side of her jaw, still engulfed in euphoria of the day’s revelation. “But if it’s a girl—Leia?”  _

_ Padme pondered, leaning to his side. “Leia,” She had said, with a pronunciation that was not-quite but close enough. “Tell me what it means?”  _

_ Suddenly he grew flustered, an awkward hand raising to trace idle pattern at the top of her stomach. “It’s—” He said, cheeks reddening, “In Tattooine, it means Lioness.” He said, looking down to his lap. “Wasn’t much of a name as it is a title for untamable women—Jabba used to, like, give it to the female slaves fighting for freedom—”  _

_ “Ani—” _

_ “It’s stupid, I know—”  _

_ “Ani.” his jaw was on her palm, tilted down so he could meet her gaze; brown and warm and loving, spreading through his veins. “I love it.” She said, genuinely, eyes sparkling with joy. “Leia. Our little lioness.”  _

_ He breathed in relief, leaning closer— _

_ “Leia, then.”  _

He had  _ named  _ her himself, and he had  _ forgotten.  _ Made himself forget  _ everything  _ about the past, about  _ him  _ and the old life  _ he  _ lived in, and now—the price of his erasure was her  _ pain.  _

She whimpered, then, coughing faintly to the floor. Even in his scarlet-tinted view, he could see how her neck had dark marks adorned on it, like a curse, like something straight out of history, repeating itself _ — _

_ “Come back, Ani, you’re breaking my heart!”  _

The thought of his actions made him nauseous. 

“Leia.” He said, and even his vococorder couldn’t hide the tremble in his tone as his fingers hovered atop the princess’ still-form. “Leia, Leia,  _ Leia _ —” 

Vader had always avoided her, in the senate building or in his visits to Alderaan, because she reminded him so much of  _ her;  _ of an Angel he once loved then  _ destroyed _ . He always thought that she was a coincidence, a cruel reminder the Force made to ridicule him,  _ not— _

[ _ Lord Vader, it appears that the subject is unconscious. _ ] the torture droid—IT-O, that was what it was called—piped with a monotone voice, breaking Vader’s reverie. [ _ Should we employ shocking methods to— _ ]

IT-O didn’t continue— _ couldn’t;  _ because right that second Vader had bend the force and crushed his frail metal body with his will  _ only _ . The droid beeped for several seconds before its lamps slowly dimmed to death, and Vader stared at its lifeless form, crumpled to the ground like a crushed can. 

He looked at the Princess— _ Leia,  _ her name was  _ Leia  _ and he had given her that ( _ Just like he gave her the bruises and the drugs and the mind tricks and the fear)— _ and tried to listen to her breathing.

Shallow; they were quick and  _ shallow,  _ like she was—

Like his Angel when—

He wanted to scream, but instead he balled his fist and called the force, willing it to swirl around her once more, lifting her up with the gentlest of movement, putting her back at the cold metal bench she first began. Way too cold for her organic skin, Vader knew—but he would have to make do.

"Lord Vader, we heard some noise—" The cell door opened, and three stormtroopers walked in, halting their steps upon seeing him. In hindsight, perhaps it was a strange sight for them—the Emperor’s Second in Command crouching over an unconscious prisoner like he was  _ caring  _ for her. “Oh.”

Several beats of silence, and then—then one of the stormtroopers laughed. “You got her good, didn’t you, Sir?” The man suggested, rather cheekily. 

Another piped up, almost laughing. “Served her right. She deserves to rot after—” 

They never finished their sentence; instead their face contorted into something akin to pain, fear, and shock, mixing into one. Their fingers clawed their throat to remove hands that weren’t there, before their body grew slack and limp. It was only then did Vader drop the two stormtroopers, watched them as they crashed to the ground with no resistance.

( _ just like she did a few minutes ago, after he—after— _

_ He did this to her, too; nearly put her in the same fate, too, if not for—)  _

Vader’s felt the force buzzing around him, fury fueling their dance as they lashed out—cracking the walls and the floors and the ceilings of the cell; leaving only one small crevice of the room untouched—the place where  _ she  _ resided. 

The remaining stormtrooper yelped, despite himself, and Vader dragged his eyes to see the trooper. “Fetch me a medical droid.” He ordered, coldly, as the force raged around them. 

“Sir—?”

“Medical. Droid.” 

The soldier didn’t need much more prompter before he scrambled from where he was, leaving Vader alone once more with the Princess. 

No—not just the Princess.  _ His  _ princess. 

His—

A medical droid came soon after, beeping and bopping in binary about his name and designation. Vader brushed it all briskly, going straight to instruct his order. “You are to nurse the princess. Provide her with every medicine, treatment, therapy—anything necessary to ensure her survival.” He said, “Make sure to always keep yourself by her side until she is fully recovered.” 

[ _ Certainly, Sir _ .] The Medical Droid beeped, [ _ if I may inquire, what are the causes of her injuries and to what extent it could possibly reach? This might be important to figure out relevant treatment that might work for her needs. _ ]

Vader could feel the crackle of raw power prickling at the tip of his fingers upon being asked such question. He wanted to crush the Droid as well, let her crumple like the Droid before her for making him  _ remember.  _ The force around him  _ lured,  _ telling him just how easy that would be; to tear the Droid to shreds—

But then Leia groaned, and Vader stopped.  _ No,  _ he said, firmly, pushing the temptation away.  _ No,  _ this was for her; for her safety and security and wellbeing. So history wouldn’t repeat itself. 

_ Ani— _

Inside the helmet, Vader winced. He worked hard to shove that  _ name  _ at the dark crevices of his mind a long time ago, but now it was the only thing echoing through his head; his Angel’s voice, saying  _ Ani, Ani, Ani, Ani— _

_ Look at her, Ani; so much of me in her, but also so much of you— _

“See that nothing jeopardizes her recovery,” Vader croaked, thankful for the vococorder to hide the weak notch in his voice, before whisking himself away; from this room, from these memories, from  _ her. _

_ From what he had done to her.  _


	2. lioness.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Tell him Leia,’ a voice rang in her head, telling her urgently, ‘tell him, if it could perhaps buy some time for your safety—’
> 
> But no, wait, that wasn’t her voice, it was a man’s, accented and desperate and calling her name with an odd-sound, almost like—like Layah, not Leia. Whoever owned the voice, he was fearful--she could feel desperation spilling through, the want to reach her, to warn her, to—protect her? 

Leia Organa woke up to sounds of Droid buzzing, and almost immediately leaped from her position. 

[ _Miss!_ ] The Droid before her yelped, startled at her sudden movement. She almost yelled as well, the image of the torture droid still fresh in her mind. Backing herself to the nearest wall, it took her awhile to calm her drumming heart and focus her eyes onto the Droid before her. 

Green-white—its color was green-white, not grey-black. 

[ _Miss?_ ] Asked the droid in binaryspeak, tone gentle and careful. [ _Did I do something that hurts you?_ ] It continued, earnestly, approaching Leia with the most timid of movement. 

Leia leaned over, slightly, eyes narrowing. “You’re not—” She said, her voice dry and croaky, “You’re not the torture Droid from before.” She assessed, her tone unsure. From her peripheral, she saw a cracked metal pile of grey and black, and wondered—was that where the previous one went for his failure to extract information from her? Discarded and replaced by the newer model?

In fact, everything around her was—cracked; broken, somehow. The metal coat of the wall chipped, some of the wiring were bent and snapped, like someone had destroyed this room. The only remaining smooth surface was the metal bench she was residing on, and something swirled within her, as if trying to tell her something—something _important._

Hearing her statement, the Droid seemed to be highly offended—or as offended as a Droid could be. [ _Certainly not!_ ] it had protested. [ _My name is SH-4 and I am the Empire’s latest innovation for medical Droid. I would never be designated to inflict pain, much less for such unfortunate reasons!_ ] 

Wait—medical Droid? Leia blinked—once, twice. “Not a torture Droid?” She asked again, trying to be sure. 

The Droid beeped in indignance, a rather dramatic move for a Droid, if Leia could say. [ _Good grief, no!_ ] It wheeled front and back, opening compartments that contained pills and gauzes and bandages and standard surgery tools. [ _Does this look like an equipment for a torture Droid for you?_ ] 

"Does it?" Leia echoed, now amused more than anything, "with this Empire, one can't ever be so sure." She narrowed her eyes, then, because now that the fear had subsided, it was replaced by something else; curiosity. "Who sent you here?" 

Because this little Droid, chirpy and adorable and eager as it was, couldn't possibly roll itself into the room and decided to take care of a random prisoner, could it? 

_[Well, I am fetched by Trooper DG-5467—]_

"who?"

_[—under the instructions of Lord Vader—]_

"Who?!" 

Leia's yelp startled the Droid, and the little bot made unintelligible beep-bop that made Leia's already pounding head growing even dizzier. _[Miss, you're startling me!]_ protested it, whirring around in circles as Leia sat there, stunned. 

Vader had sent a medical Droid for her? _For what?_

_[Miss? You're growing very pale. Are you—]_

"What is your designation?" Croaked Leia, as she backed away from the Droid instinctively. "Your instructions, what was it?" 

The Droid—SH-4, was it?—tilted its head, as if curious. _[Why to nurse you, of course,]_ it beeped in binary. _[I was given the orders to not leave your side until you regain your optimum physical health!]_ It's claw hand pointed at Leia's hand, then, and Leia's gaze trailed the direction. _[That's why I was fixing your right metacarpophalangeal and interphalangeal joints. I have also drained some of the potions in your system, though some of them may linger and make you nauseous...]_

Leia narrowed her eyes at her knuckles; bandaged neatly and carefully, with a distinct smell of disinfectant oozing from the wrap. She could feel a faint stinging on her part, a sign that the wound had not fully healed yet, but it was well on its way to recovery. 

She turned to the Droid, eyebrows raising in suspicion. "Who gave these orders, SH-4?" She asked, almost accusative. 

_[Oh, Dear, did the young Miss hit her crania? Because I am 98.7% sure that I have mentioned of Lord Vader's instructions before—]_

_Wait, what?_

Leia closed her eyes, her good hand rising, extending her fingers in surrender, "hold up, _hold up._ " She said, shaking her head, and only then noticing how _dizzying_ it was for her to do that. " _Vader?"_ She asked, incredulously. "Vader _himself_ told you to _nurse_ me?" 

_[Affirmative, Miss.]_

"He didn't give you any other orders?"

_[Such as—?]_

"Oh, I don't _know!"_ Leia bristled, frustration surfacing to the cracks now that there was no one—well, no organics, at least—to supervise her. "To shoot me when I'm not looking; to poison my food with another hallucinogens; to threaten me with a knife—didn't you have a knife? In that small compartment of yours?" Leia narrowed her eyes at the little Droid suspiciously.

 _[The knives at my disposal are surgical knives! Used only for emergency purposes!]_ The Droid was now being very defensive. _[And my instructions are clear, Miss; it is to only nurse you until you are at your best physical health, and oversee that nothing jeopardizes your recovery.]_

This time, Leia couldn't help it; she laughed—almost cackled, actually—until her throat were hoarse and her mouth bitter and her stomach sick. She laughed until she heaved, because _Vader?_

He was the one who tried to _save her?_

_[Is something humoring you, Miss?]_

"No, no, it's just—" Leia was almost hysterical when she spoke again. "This has _got_ to be a joke, right?" She said, scooting over with a wild grin. 

_[Beg your pardon?]_

"Him! Telling you to do _this!"_ Leia's hands flailed around, trying to emphasize what she meant; the bandaged knuckles, the ration bar at the corner of the bench, hell, even the water, she just realized; a full jug of them, just for _her._ "This is another one of his manipulation isn't it? He'd build me back up and lure me into a false sense of safety, wishing my defenses would weaken in trust and then—" Leia snapped her fingers, "he'd torture me again, just like he did the last time, won't he?"

SH-4 beeped, almost worriedly. _[Miss, I don't think you should work yourself too much—]_ it tried to reason, mechanical limb trying to reach Leia's arm to catch it as gently as possible, attempting to put the wounded hand in place. 

"Don't touch me!" Leia almost shrieked, standing immediately to avoid the Droid. It seemed nice, and harmless, but Leia couldn't afford to trust it—or anything and anyone else in this base, _really_ , because they were all Imperials and they were her _enemies._

They wanted to torture her, ruin her to shreds just mere hours ago—and now they were trying to _heal her_ in good faith? 

No, she didn't buy that. Vader would be _stupid_ if he thought she'd _buy_ that. 

She was about to open her mouth again to say something, when the cell door opened—and two stormtroopers arrived, their guns at ease but still threatening nonetheless.

"Princess." They said, monotonously. "The Governor is expecting you at the viewing deck." One of them continued, standing still by the door.

Leia narrowed her eyes at them, her anger and spite rising up upon the mention of the title. She had an inkling to who the officer was, and she spitefully told them, "Well the kriffing governor can shove it right in his—"

"This is not an invitation, princess." Said the other guard, and suddenly they were mauling her; grabbed her by the arms and dragging her out forcefully, leaving the door locked behind them. Much like they did the first time they caught her from her ship. Leia's protests died in her throat when one of the blasters were pressed onto the nape of her neck. But really—should she be surprised?

The viewing deck was clear, buzzing with people getting things done. Someone announced that they were entering the Alderaanian system, and Leia's heartbeat skipped, her stomach knotting. 

Something in her gut told her that something about to be very, _very_ wrong.

"What are we doing in the Alderaanian system?" She asked, her voice slightly shaky as she turned wildly at the stormtroopers beside her. 

"To pay a visit on one of our sub-governments, of course." A voice answered her from the far side of the deck, and Leia turned to see the Grand Moff Tarkin, tipping his hat to her in mock-salute. "Princess."

Ah. So her guess was right, then. 

Beside him, Vader had turned as well, his masked eyes turning into her direction. Leia fought the urge to squirm under his gaze, forcing herself not to wonder what was in his head, especially since—

_"The woman—in your dreams; who is that!?"_

_Something, clawing its way to close her windpipes, preventing her to breathe and she choked, gasped and spluttered from the pain—_

_"Don't lie to me!"_

Leia gulped, shoving all the frayed nerves into the pit of her stomach as she was dragged to face him. "Governor Tarkin." She turned all her attention to the Governor instead, hoping that no one noticed the crack in her voice, or the slight gloss in her eyes, "I should have expected to find you holding Vader's leash. I recognized your foul stench when I was brought on board." 

From her peripheral, she could see Vader— _flinching_?—at her words, as if she had personally offended him. Tarkin's smile dimmed as well, turning sour at her insinuation. Well, Leia amended—she had no business taking care of feelings of two tyrants. This war was of their own making, after all. They had deserved whatever insults coming their way.

Tarkin rolled his eyes at her, giving her a smirk. "Charming to the last." He sneered, and Leia gave him a smirk in return. "You don't know how hard I found it, signing the order to terminate your life."

Oh. _Oh._

So she really was going to _die._

Leia's gut twisted into something painful and unrecognizable, as she fought to swallow the bile that came rising in her throat. _Death._

All she could think of was the woman in her dreams—her _mother;_ with her beautiful sad smile. At the back of her mind, she wondered how the woman would feel; her daughter dying at such an early age, at such a tragic way. 

_(“Proud,”_ she could almost hear her say, if she tried to listen, _“I’m proud of you, Leia.”)_

"I'm surprised—" she tilted her chin, despite the fear and dread filling her system. She would not let him have the last words on her, "that you had the courage to take the responsibility yourself." Her words came out slightly shaky, but she held high, looking at Tarkin defiantly. 

Tarkin laughed, shrugging, like the matter of her death was as simple as a matter of the weather today. He looked away to his men, as if signaling, _can you believe this little girl,_ and Leia's fury only grew, spreading through her veins like wildfire.

Vader, on the other hand, seemed to be unnaturally tense at Tarkin's words, his eye-holes glued to her the whole conversation. Leia wondered if he was the one tasked to kill her. A fitting job—after all; what was a mercenary with no target?

"Princess Leia, before your execution, I would like you to be my guest at a ceremony that'll make this battle station operational." Tarkin's voice pulled her out of her reverie, and Leia blinked, turning her attention from Vader to him. Tarkin looked especially smug as he continued. "No star system will dare oppose the Emperor now." 

Leia glanced around at the fuss—she could recognize what this place was; a command control for attacks. She could see, from the clear viewing deck, how one limb of this ship had been idly pointing at random since the very beginning, as if playing _eenie-meenie-miney-moo_ to pick its target.

Her entire body grew cold. 

Pressing her lips tight, Leia scrambled to gain as much composure as she could muster. "The more you tighten your grip, Tarkin,” She spoke, tauntingly, “the more star systems will slip through your fingers."

Tarkin actually _cackled_ at that, like Leia was just some petulant child naively suggesting an impossible idea to her amused parents. “Not after we demonstrate the power of this station.” He said, slyly, “In a way, you have determined the choice of the planet that'll be destroyed first. Since you are reluctant to provide us with the location of the Rebel base, I have chosen to test this station's destructive power on—” He trailed his eyes to the biggest planet that was facing the window—the one adorned with lush greeneries and clear blue water, the planet Leia knew oh-so-well. “your home; _Alderaan_.”

Leia’s knees nearly buckled at that, all colors drained from her face. _No, no, no, no, no no nonononono—_ “Alderaan is peaceful!” _no not my home not my people not my family not my entire life—_ “We have no weapons, you can’t possibly—” 

Everything around her was swirling, building up tension as Leia’s breath hitched, her chest constricting. She felt buzzing around her—the buzz that always came whenever something big was about to happen, something definitive, something _life changing._

_Not Papa not Mama not Winter not—_

Tarkin clicked his tongue, rather impatiently. “Then you would prefer another target, perhaps a military one, would you not?” He taunted. “Perhaps—your rebel base?” 

All the cells in her body screamed for and against her, conflicting and warring one another as Leia made the most important decision in her lifetime. 

_Alderaan or Yavin?_

_Her home or the rebellion?_

**_‘Tell him Leia,’_** a voice rang in her head, telling her urgently, **‘** ** _tell him, if it could perhaps buy some time for your safety—’_**

But no, _wait,_ that wasn’t _her_ voice, it was a man’s, accented and desperate and calling her name with an odd-sound, almost like—like _Layah,_ not _Leia._ Whoever owned the voice, he was _fearful--_ she could feel desperation spilling through, the want to reach her, to warn her, to— _protect her?_

Leia's head grew dizzier at the probe of the voice, she shivered, rather involuntarily. The sensation eerily reminded her of another occurrence just not too long ago, similar as this one, with a much more monotonous boom dominating her thoughts even if she tried her best to close her mind—

_"Where is the rebel base, Princess?"_

_"I told you, I don't know!"_

“I grow tired of asking this question, Princess, where is—” 

_“Dantooine!”_ Leia almost yelled her answer, internally shielding her mind to prevent any of them—but especially Vader—from verifying her answer. She remembered Dantooine from her diplomacy lesson; deserted and wasted planet with no organic occupants—they could do. “It’s in Dantooine.” She heaved, glaring at Tarkin with glassy eyes, cheeks flushed with emotions. 

Nodding, Tarkin turned to Vader with a rather large grin. “There, you see, Lord Vader? She can be reasonable.” He said, with tone for pleasantries, before turning to the people in the cockpit, almost boredly saying. “Continue with the operation, gentlemen; fire at will.” 

_“What?!”_

And then—a fireball appeared in her peripheral, and Leia instinctively turned to see just in time as the shot delved its way closer, and closer, and closer, and—

The space was an empty vacuum of a place, and no sound could travel with the absence of a medium, yet somehow, as her planet shattered into little pieces, Leia could hear _every single scream;_ fear, desperation, _anguish._ They all tore her conscience, shredded her guts to little pieces as she trembled from the shock.

Leia blinked once, and then it was silent. 

Alderaan was _no more._

_No, no, no, no, no—_

Tarkin spoke some more, but Leia’s mind was—was _loud;_ deafening, filled with too much distraught and despair to process the words, or anything else, really, because _it was her home, her people, the Empire just committed genocide to her people—_

_“—akh!”_

It took Leia a while to process what had happened; her fist hitting Tarkin’s face, her bandaged knuckle stinging as the bleeding start anew. It took Leia even longer to process the tears streaming down her cheeks, or the tremble on her lips, or the buzz around her, jabbing and filling her senses. 

And Tarkin—Tarkin was _slammed_ , several meters away, looking as stunned as she felt.

 _How—?_

The impression didn’t last long, though, as Tarkin scrambled to stand and spit on the ground, red with— _blood, just like those people in Alderaan, bleeding, torn and destroyed because of her. She did this, she caused their death, she—_ “Why, Princess,” Tarkin hissed, dangerously, as she stared at him with blurred eyesight and flushed cheeks, “Who would have known that Bail and Breha Organa had produced such a little _brat?”_

Him mentioning Mama and Papa’s name made her blood _boil._ Leia stared at Tarkin intensely, lower lip bit down so hard it drew _blood,_ and she wanted to do it again, wanted to punch him again, for as much as her hand would allow her, because _that was her home, her people, her family—her mama papa sister friends—_

And then suddenly, suddenly Tarkin was— _flying?_

Leia blinked, and— _no,_ floating; something, _someone—_ had lifted him mid-air. His smug face contorted into something akin to pain, as his hands clawed his throat for something, as if—

Leia turned to Vader, who, for the first time since she had arrived here, had averted his gaze from her. Instead he was staring up at Tarkin, right hand raised in a squeezing motion, and suddenly Leia felt a memory resurfacing from a slightly earlier time in cell number 2187, where it was _her_ instead, floating mid-air as Vader—as Vader _clogged_ her respiratory system. 

A faint feeling prickled her throat, and Leia swallowed dryly, stunned shock in the way Vader’s hand ruthlessly _crushed_ without much of a thought _._ She could feel his anger, even _here_ , tasting it thick on her mouth, breathing it in with air. Tarkin gasped for several seconds before crumpling to the ground, motionless— _lifeless._ It took Leia a split second of frozen silence before—

**_‘Leia, run!’_ **

That voice again, echoing in her head, but—calmer this time. Much less hurtful and overwhelming, giving her a nudge rather than a shove. Leia didn’t waste time musing on _who the hell it was,_ thinking _hey,_ maybe she’d finally lost her goddamn mind—and elbowed both guards on her side before picking one of their blasters and sprinted to the alley where she came from. She didn’t look back, not having the guts to see if anyone else was chasing her as she went away. 

If she did, she might have seen the source of her mysterious phantom voice, there; standing in-between the commanding deck and the hallway she had disappeared into—standing to shield _her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i took some inspo from "canis" by peradi, it's about the accentual differences of how 'Leia' is pronounced between planets. the aforementioned fic itself is amazing and you should definitely check it out!


	3. the untamed.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> she was his, _his._
> 
> and he would start teaching her what it meant to bear the deserts in her veins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm on a roll this week, folks; got myself amped up with Leia feels, so enjoy this one!

Vader had never felt more distraught in his life than he felt right now. Not even when the dreams about his mother and his wife had assaulted him _every night,_ plaguing his conscience. No, this was—this was _different._

Because the anguish of his daughter were no dreams, were no mere prophecies, were no mere abstracts—no, they were very much _real;_ palpable and painful and _real,_ swirling into one with the force she unknowingly carried with her.

When Tarkin had informed him earlier that she was to be executed if she continued to refuse cooperation, it had taken every inch of Vader not to went berserk and kill the Governor on the spot. The smug look on his face and the presumption that Vader would be all too pleased at handling the killing himself was nearly enough to send him nauseous.

In the back of his head, a small part of him asked; _is this what they know me of? The mercenary with no mercy?_

 **_But were you not?_ ** Asked another voice in return, musing, **_Would you not have bat an eye or hold your breath at the thought of her execution, had she been another person?_ **

His head was starting to pound, and dread started to fill his chest with the thoughts of _what-ifs_ , so he stopped that trail of thoughts.

He wanted to do _so many things_ to save her, but he knew that any blatant negotiative attempt on her survival would tick the Emperor, and then he could—

_“It seems that in rage, you have killed her.”_

_“No!”_

So instead, he organized a meeting between her and the Governor —a thinly veiled desperate attempt to spare her life. He was hoping that someway, _somehow,_ with the meeting taking place, Tarkin would unsign the death sentence and she could be freed. 

Of course, he expected her to come with a fight. She was _defiant;_ chin high even as Tarkin announced her death rather gleefully. 

_(He wanted to both yell at her and for her at the blatant display of bravery—was reminded of another royalty in another time, looking at her political opponents in their eyes, refusing to give up the cause when she could so easily do at her convenience._

_she got that from her mother.)_

But then—then Tarkin threatened to blow up _Alderaan_ just to _taunt her,_ and Vader could see all the wit and resilience being drained out of her face. Could see how her eyes widened, how her knees buckled, how her voice wobbled, and his chest pounded in tandem with hers. When he tried to reach out to her, to beg her to answer Tarkin's question, she instead flinched and instinctively looked down, trying to regulate her breathing—

_(like she did back in the cell, just mere hours ago; back when he—)_

Vader pulled the Dark back as fast as he could just as she desperately yelled _“Dantooine!”_ to the smug Governor.

“See, Lord Vader? She can be reasonable,” Oh how Vader _hated_ that voice, wanted nothing more than to just destroy its owner. Tarkin’s smile widened, almost menacing, and it was far too late when Vader realized the implication of his next words. “Continue with the operation, gentlemen; fire at will.”

Even in his powers—whether physical or through the force—he couldn’t do anything as the missile made its way straight into the planet his daughter was raised in. He blinked _once._

And Alderaan _shattered._

Vader heard millions of desperate screams through the force, but the loudest one originated not from the distance of the planet, but rather from this room; from a girl whose mouth was screwed shut and her eyes burn with something akin to _disbelief._

He could see her hand, clenched tight into balled fists, so much like her mother—his _wife—_ when she was upset. Could see the tears starting to gather at the brink of her eyelids, threatening to fall. There was something even more heart-shattering about her composure even in times of despair like this—her refusal to show emotions, despite how _greatly_ she was hurting in the force. 

Chopped loop of _mama papa winter my people_ was blaring through the force, reminding him of how thin the shields in her head was right then, how vulnerable—

_(Because of him because of him because of him—)_

Vader wouldn’t even wish for his enemies to have to ever learn on compartmentalizing and shoving down emotions for the sake of duty. To see the Princess— _his_ Princess, _his—_ gritting her teeth and forcing herself to _endure_ in silence reminded him of the war-torn land that was his thoughts, forced to be contained in, first by his slavers, then by the Jedi. 

The Jedi— _they_ had done this. Their course of actions had her taken away from him. And for that very reason she was now in _pain_. 

Vader felt a new rage arising—his own. Anger at the Jedi and the separatists, for turning his own daughter against him; angry at his Master, for lying to him of her existence; but above all angry at Wilhuff Tarkin. 

For attempting to execute his daughter—to _murder her_ . For inflicting _unimaginable pain_ to his Princess’ psyche when they chose to _destroy_ her instead. 

His anger were so all-consuming, he struggled for a while to see beyond the rage—only to then come out the other side and find the Grand Moff already halfway flying from where he stood, yelping in pain—and _surprise._

Next to him, his daughter’s arm was still extended, the stitched wound bleeding anew. She had _punched_ the Governor, not only with her fist but also with the _force,_ which answered her calls for the first time without her even knowing it. Her feelings were everywhere; Shock, turning to grief, then rage, then spite, then _determination._

_Leia. Lioness. The Untamed._

She lived up to her name, even if she was oblivious to it. 

“Why, Princess,” Tarkin wiped his mouth away, and Vader could see that the spit he let out, tinted darker, tinted with _blood_ , “Who would have known that Bail and Breha Organa had produced such a little _brat?”_

If Leia’s emotions were rage, then his were downright _fury._

Because Wilhuff Tarkin was _wrong;_ Leia was not the descendants of the Organas’, no matter her last name or her title; she was _his—_ his and Padme’s, with Tatooine sand and Naboo’s greeneries running in her veins. She was _his,_ and she was wonderful—spirited and strong and _wonderful,_ a blessing, someone who should not be referred to with such _contempt_ or _disgust_ the way Tarkin just did to her.

Tarkin had insulted something that was _his_ , and he did not take such insinuation lightly. 

He had moved faster than he had thought; in a split second, his hand was raised, extending at Tarkin’s direction, and _squeezed._

The effect had been immediate; the Governor was lifted ungracefully from where he was half-standing, his entire smug face contorted into pure _pain_. His fingers clawed for hands that weren't there, as Vader crushed and _crushed,_ making sure that he no longer _breathed_.

_This was what he got for breaking his daughter, for trying to kill her, for making her feel so devastated, for insulting her—_

**_but isn't that your doings as well?_ **

Vader blinked, his concentration shattered as he released the man from his grip, his breath heaving and echoing through the steel walls. He could feel all of the troopers eyeing him, half-fearful on what he would do next, but his focus was only to one person.

Across him, his daughter was staring at him with wide eyes, disbelief coloring her features. He could see the teartracks, still fresh on her cheeks, could see the lips being bitten so hard it drew blood. When he moved his arm slightly out of reflex to look at her, she had flinched unconsciously, and he had _ached._

For she was only nineteen-- _nineteen_ and he had set her down to the path of _loss_ way greater than his were. For she was hurt, and she was afraid; of this battle station, of the people around her, of the Fate looming before her, of the dark force circling her like she was their _prey_. 

_Of him._

His chest constricted in pain, the breathing relief his respirator had provided somehow making things _worse_ because he shouldn't be able to breathe, should be just as pained as she felt right now; because she was _his—_ and he shouldn't have hurt what was his and yet he _did_ , and continued to do _so—_

He looked at her, committing her face to memory; the flushed tint of her cheeks, the glassy shine in her eyes, the deepening creases in her forehead. _The last time,_ he determined to himself, _this is the last time she will ever cry because of_ **_this_** _._

So for the first time in _twenty years,_ Vader closed his eyes and did something he’d never thought he would ever have to do again—

 _There is no emotion, there is peace._ _  
_ _There is no ignorance, there is knowledge._ _  
_ _There is no passion, there is serenity._ _  
_ _There is no chaos, there is harmony._ _  
_ _There is no death, there is the Force._

—and the light had _answered._

Swallowing his surprise, Vader used this moment to send her another message, this time as gentle as possible; one she didn't even know she had received, one that would have shaken her out of her reverie and _survive._

 _Leia,_ he called her, with a voice that used to belong to a boy with bright blue eyes, _run._

Leia—pronounced _Lai-yah,_ not _Lei-a,_ because she was _his,_ ** _his_** and he would start teaching her what it meant to bear the deserts in her veins—had blinked; once, twice, before elbowing both guards and fishing out one of their guns with her good hand, and had _ran_.

Vader could see the troopers being jostled out of their trance, as well, drawing their weapons ready to pursue her, and he moved quicker than he thought. 

The force field that he generated was massive, slamming the troopers back, sending several of them to hit the walls and the clear glass. "Stay. In. Your. Place." He said, the gritty voice coming out from his vococorder striking fear into the remaining troopers that could still stand.

All these troopers and officers exchanged glances, and Vader could feel their uncertainty swirling within the deck. "Sir," said one officer after a while of tense silence. "What must we do?" 

Vader glared at them, channelling all the force that would answer his call to bend them at his will. " _Nothing."_ He said, willing for his words to penetrate their conscience. "You all will do _nothing,_ you hear me?" 

Their rigid stances grew relaxed, their words echoing his, and some tension in his shoulder chipped. A selfish part of him reached for her presence, and was relieved when he found her burning like an eternal flame, stubborn and fierce.

_Leia. Lioness. The Untamed._

He knew he couldn't influence all the people in this blasted warmonger, and that soon enough, the troopers and officers were bound to chase her after a while, nonetheless—but he hoped that the time he bought her would be enough for her to get away. 

_(A little part of him took pride of her resilience, resourcefulness—was reminded of another royalty in another time, picking her way out of the cuff, before flipping herself to reach atop the deadly arena._

_she got that from her mother.)_

Later, he might have to do some damage controls; falsify several documents, delete some strategic footages, and even alter these troopers' memories, one by one, so that his actions were not to be caught by the Emperor, but it was worth it.

He looked at Wilhuff Tarkin, crumpled down the floor with little to nothing to hold him by but the remnants of his name, and steeled his resolve. 

If it meant he was giving his daughter some semblance of safety, then it was _worth it_. 

* * *

_Interlude:_

There was a shift in the force—surprising and urgent. For the first time in years, the imbalance in the world _tilted_ —only slightly, but it _tilted._

Yoda was so startled from his meditation he almost toppled over mid-air and _fell_ , because it felt like breathing a fresher air after decades of inhaling pollution.

Dagobah was in the far-end of the outer rim, at the brink of the universe, teetering to nonexistence. But even from here, the ancient Jedi master could feel it; the force, swirling around him like a relieved choir.

He instead lowered himself down, stunned at the revelation. Looking around, he tried to reach out again, tentatively, halfway expecting for his senses to be at fault.

When his eyes widened at the sensation, an amused voice called out behind him, _"I told you, didn't I?"_

Qui-Gon Jinn was leaning on to one of the trees, giving his old acquaintance a small smile. "Master Jinn," said Yoda, tilting his head slightly to greet the force-ghost. 

_"My old friend."_ Said Qui-Gonn, as his form slowly approached him, before taking a seat right across Yoda. Their eyes leveled to one another, one twinkling in joy and the other shining in surprise. _"You look quite stunned. Has the new development reached your conscience?"_

Yoda looked at him intently, his forehead creasing. "Foresee this, I do not." He said, honestly. "A revelation, this is."

 _"Why yes."_ replied Qui-Gonn, chuckling. _"Then again, is anything ever_ not _a revelation, when it comes to him?"_ He said, eyes twinkling in mirth. 

Yoda pressed her lips, "hold our breath, we should not," he narrowed his eyes, "decided for him, the force has yet. Still standing, our beliefs are." 

Qui-Gonn hummed, agreeing. _"While I do agree, my friend, think of it like this—_ " his eyes brightened, waiting, " _have you ever wanted to be proven wrong more in your life, than you do in this moment?"_

Pursing his lips, Yoda fell into a deep contemplation—perhaps for the first time in a long, long, while. His mind was whirring, all the beliefs in him wavering, ever so slightly.

He held the long withstanding teachings of the temple dear to his heart; _Sith cannot change into a Jedi, for those who fall into the darkness would go too mad to reach the light._

But _the shift—_

"Yes." Yoda finally said, solemnly, causing Qui-Gonn's smile to _bloom_. "Proven wrong, I would love to be."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's not the end--yet! when i told you this is supposed to be a part of a series, I mean it. so keep an eye on the next part; it's Luke's time to shine :)

**Author's Note:**

> follow me as I scream for my love for Luke and Leia in twitter! my handle is @surabayuh :):)


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